


Saving Grace

by fructoselollipop



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructoselollipop/pseuds/fructoselollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson breaks his back in the fall from his house, and he spends his time in the hospital trying to convince Emma that the little girl Paige is actually his daughter Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Grace

The high pitched crunch of the window breaking is followed by a dramatic and brief silence, then sickeningly the unmistakeable sound of Jefferson’s body impacting with the ground. Emma fears what comes next, praying for a scream so that she knows he’s  _at least_  still alive, yet holding out hope that he somehow ( _magically_ ) landed totally unharmed.

What she gets is a cry of anguish and excruciating pain. After exchanging a horrified look with Mary Margaret, who then hurries to lean out the window, Emma bolts for the door. This is bad. This is very, very bad. A few moments ago she was staring down the barrel of her own gun, wondering if she would ever see Henry again. And now the tables have turned so quickly and so drastically that she feels dizzy and quite sick.

“Don’t die, don’t die,” she mutters to herself, straining her ears to make sure the mad man is still moaning. Far and away from caring about Jefferson, Emma doesn’t want him on Mary Margaret’s conscience – or record. With this, it seems like a sure fire conviction.  _God, what in the fuck am I supposed to do now?_

The Hatter is sprawled brokenly on the muddy ground, still groaning, that damned top hat he had forced her to sew laying a few feet away. Just from a moment’s glance, Emma knows this is a very serious injury. Aside from the blood pooling around his head, no doubt from lacerations he sustained when he went through the window, his legs are also twisted around unnaturally. He’s not moving, and Emma’s stomach churns.

Her hand is already digging in her pocket for her cell phone when she remembers just how they came to be in this situation in the first place. Mary Margaret. She can’t be seen here. Worse still, the sky is already getting light, which means she’ll soon be out of time to get back to the station. Could they claim Jefferson kidnapped her right of the cell? Something tells her he won’t be so amenable to helping them cover up Mary Margaret’s ill-advised escape attempt.  _If he even lives_. She’s sickened that the thought even crosses her mind.

A moment later Mary Margaret herself comes up next to her, looking every bit as mortified as Emma feels. “Mary Margaret,” the young blonde whispers. “What do we  _do_?”

Mary’s head turns so sharply, her expression twisted downward in a frown, that Emma actually feels like she’s being scolded, even before anything has been said. “We call an ambulance,” is the stern reply, and Emma hears the underlying  _‘what the hell is the matter with you?’_

“I meant about  _you_.”

And Mary Margaret’s attitude changes faster a set of traffic lights. She checks her watch right as the clock tower in town starts ringing eight. A tense pause passes between them, stretching out uncomfortably, broken only by the chiming of the clock.

It is Jefferson who speaks first, his voice strained and hoarse, as if every word is costing him dearly. “Take her and go. Can’t let Regina win.”

Emma’s eyes don’t move from her friend, but the gears in her head are spinning out of control. Jefferson knows Regina is responsible? Does he have proof? Did they just ruin their one chance to clear Mary Margaret’s name? “Take my car, go back to the station,” she says presently and with a firm tone, so that there is no room for argument. “I’ll stay.”

Mary Margaret looks worried. “But you need to lock me back in. What are you going to say?”

“Mr. Gold should be there,” Emma replies, well aware of how little reassurance that offers. “He’ll help you. I’ll figure out things here.” Its her turn to give her friend a warning look. “The keys are in the front seat.  _Go_.”

There’s no more time to argue, and Mary Margaret knows it. So, she turns her back on the scene and runs around the side of the house, while Emma fishes her cell phone out of her pocket (curious that Jefferson left it there) and pounds the digits 9-1-1. An ambulance is soon on it’s way, with only the one lie so far – that Emma just happened to be nearby and heard glass breaking, finding an injured man lying on the ground when she came to investigate.

Throughout the whole explanation Jefferson is eerily quiet, his breathing labored and his eyes steadily sliding downwards. “No, no, no,” Emma says frantically, cutting off the emergency operator mid-sentence. She drops to her knees beside him and slaps his face a few times; lightly (she doesn’t want to make things worse) but hard enough to keep him conscious. She knows to do at least that much. “Jefferson, stay with me.”

That seems to liven him up a bit, and the corner of his mouth twists up into a weak smirk. “Why do you even care?” He replies, his voice barely audible over the nearing sirens. “Because I know about Regina?”

The accusation hits Emma like a telescope to the face.  _Is he wrong?_  “Maybe I’m just a good person,” she says, trying to sound disdainful (she’s not entirely sure she manages to pull it off).

His smile grows a little at that. “I know you are,  _Emma_.” He exaggerates her name, as if tasting it on his lips. On the other side of the house, the sirens are blaring and car doors are slamming. Footsteps are pounding closer, and Emma commits herself to stay at least until he’s in safe hands. Were it not for the broken angle of his body on the ground, he would look almost peaceful. Almost like he’s going to sleep with a pleasant memory or thought in mind.

The moment is gone when the paramedics come upon them, hurrying to secure Jefferson to a stretcher. Just as they are about to wheel him away, his hand reaches out to Emma. “Stay with me?” He asks, and he sounds so weak and lonely that Emma feels something break inside her.

“I can’t, I’m sorry.” She means that, too, she finds. No one should be alone at a time like this. “I have to go – file my report.” Check on Mary Margaret is more like it, and he knows it. His hand falls back onto the stretcher, prompting her to add, “I’ll check on you later though.”

The paramedics take him away. Emma follows as far as the ambulance, her eyes never leaving Jefferson. She feels guilty, though she knows she shouldn’t. Regardless, she hopes like she’s never hoped before that he will be just fine.

It takes her twenty minutes to get back to the station, and she is greeted by Regina in a particularly foul mood. Emma dodges most of her questions and, after checking that she managed to get back into her cell safely and securely (with Mr. Gold’s help), relegates the task of escorting Mary Margaret to the arraignment to her lawyer and a pair of beat cops. She knows she should be there for her friend, but she has too much on her plate right now. She’d just have to trust Mr. Gold.

Emma spends the rest of her morning fretting about the man in the hospital. Not just about his condition, but what he could say about how he ended up laid out in his backyard after falling from a third story window. To take her mind off things, she pays a visit to Henry at school before classes start. Its there that she sees Paige and finds the story of the Mad Hatter in Henry’s book, adding a whole new unwanted layer to the already complicated situation.

* * *

 

Around four o’clock in the afternoon she receives a phone call from Dr. Whale. Jefferson’s surgery did not go well, and, even worse, he’s asking after her. Dr. Whale asks that she come as soon as possible. The prognosis isn’t good.

With a sick and heavy feeling in her stomach, she drives to the hospital, wondering why he wants to see her. She had promised to check on him, hadn’t she? He can’t wait?

Her question is answered upon her arrival. After first inquiring at the front desk as to the appropriate room number, she is met en route by Dr. Whale. He explains that Jefferson told the staff that the injury had been sustained, not as part of a scuffle between himself, Emma, and Mary Margaret, but a suicide attempt. Since waking up from surgery, the sheriff is the only person he wants to see, and since he has no family to speak of, Dr. Whale thinks Emma should be there for him.

Jefferson looks pale, even against the white hospital sheets, and appears somewhat surprised to see her enter the room. “You came,” he says, sounding a bit more like himself (as if Emma knows who he is,  _really_ ). “I didn’t think you would.”

The sheriff takes a seat next to his bed, uncomfortable. She wants to reply snidely, to comment on the irony of a man who kidnapped her asking her to join his bedside – especially since she played a part in putting him there. But she can’t. Instead, she asks, “Why did you lie for us?”

“Do you listen to anything I say?” Is his reply and he’s even managed a frown that in another time and place Emma would love to slap right off his face. “I told you, we can’t let Regina win.” He lays back against his pillows, his gray-blue eyes closing calmly. “Besides, despite what you might think, I was never going to hurt you  _or_  your mother.”

Emma brushes aside the last part of the comment (he must be on  _a lot_  of drugs) in favor of responding to the first. “Certainly didn’t seem that way to me, when you nearly ripped half my hair out or had me at gunpoint.” Her voice is laden with sarcasm and disdain. The bastard is way too smug for a man who might be crippled for his trouble.

“Well, if I may say so, the club to the face was a bit of a cheap shot.” He opens one eye and peers at her as she furiously works her jaw, struggling to come up with strong enough words to tell him just exactly  _why he_   _fucking deserved that_. In the end he cuts her off before she has the chance to make her argument. “We can go back and forth all day, Emma,” he says with a sigh, “but there isn’t time for that, and its certainly not why I asked you to come.”

“You mean there’s actually a reason?” Emma replies, still annoyed and unable to control herself. “It’s not all part of some scheme to get me to make you another hat, is it? Cause I’m not falling for that again.”

Jefferson chuckles at that, or at least he tries to before it turns into a nasty sounding cough. Emma is reminded of what Dr. Whale told her about his condition, and her mood softens considerably. “No, no,” he says, when he’s recovered. “This is about the only part you actually believed. My daughter, my Grace.”

Emma’s expression flinches slightly. She doesn’t want to admit it, but in the moment back in his house, she made a connection with him when he was talking about his ‘daughter.’ She’s still not entirely convinced the little girl he’s been spying on  _is_  his daughter, but she can’t deny she was touched by the emotion he displayed. He really believes it, and belief is a powerful and scary thing. “Who says I believed that?” She asks delicately.

“I know that look you had in your eye,” Jefferson replies, smiling at her. “We’re kindred spirits, you and I.” She resists the urge to scoff, and he moves on before she can comment derisively. “Besides, even if you don’t believe me yet, I brought you here to convince you.”

This time Emma feels she really must protest. “Listen,” she begins uncomfortably, “I know this must be a really difficult time for you, but I don’t know if I’m the right one to —”

“No,” he says firmly, cutting her off. “You are the perfect one, in fact. The only one. I know you’re busy, but frankly I don’t have much time left and this is quite literally the most important thing in my meager existence. If you need an excuse to appease your conscience, then let’s just say that if you don’t stay and listen to my story, then I’ll tell everyone what  _really_  put me in this bed. How does that grab you?”

To that, Emma has nothing to say. She’s stunned at how bluntly he mentioned not having “much time left,” despite his threat in the very next breath. It draws from her words of comfort she might not have issued otherwise. “Hey, I’m sure that’s not true. Yours is a very survivable injury….”

“Emma.” His voice is so soft then, so deeply heartfelt and sincere that her eyes find his sadly. He shakes his head, and her protests die in her throat. His hand shifts on the bed, slowly reaching out for hers. To her own surprise, she takes it.

“I was an idiot as a young man,” he begins, a small smile tugging at his lips. “My whole existence was sustained on cheap thrills and the infamy my work earned me.”

“What did you do?” Emma asks, honestly curious, but Jefferson only shakes his head once more.

“You’d never believe me, and it’d be pointless to try to explain,” is his dry reply. “Suffice it to say it was dangerous, exciting, paid ludicrously well, and I was the only person in the world capable of doing it.” He pauses and appears to reminisce to himself for a few moments, then continues. “Well, aside from Grace’s mother. She was my partner, you could say. She accompanied me on most of my…  _journeys._  And, well, I was young and stupid, and didn’t have much sense when it came to thinking things through. One thing led to another, and eventually…. Well, you can imagine the shock and horror of a young, self-absorbed man learning he was to be a father.”

Emma frowns slightly. The way he’s talking hits a little close to home for her, both in the manner of her own abandonment as a child and the situation she encountered with Henry’s father…. And it certainly doesn’t hold with the eerily obsessive speech he gave her about being a father back at his home. Clearly there’s more to this story.

“But then Grace was born and  _oh_ , she was beautiful.” He smiles at his own private memory, getting that faraway look people often have when they remember something fondly. “I mean, she was ugly,” he amends and Emma is glad she isn’t drinking something, for she surely would have choked on it. “A little cone-headed, bald, and with a birthmark I’ll never forget on the back of her thigh. Could have sworn it was a pair of bunny ears. But she was –  _is_  – mine, and she was beautiful. I’ve never had a faster change of heart. Instead of going out and doing all the traveling and thrill seeking I once loved, all I wanted to do was stay home with my girl. Her mother and I even talked about getting married….” He trails off sighing and shaking his head.

“But, you didn’t,” Emma infers quietly. “Why?”

Jefferson gives her hand a squeeze, as if silently showing his appreciation for her curiosity. “Well, not too many of our – ah – clients were very happy that we had retired and settled down. In fact, some were very  _unhappy_. One sent a squad of knights to retrieve the hat.” He stops and frowns, seeming to understand that he let a very bizarre sentence slip through. But he shakes his head to silence her questions and moves on. “When Hannah didn’t let them have it, they killed her.” The hand holding Emma’s contracts and she winces slightly as her fingers are smashed together. “If I hadn’t come home who knows what would have happened to Grace….”

They both lapse into silence and for a few minutes the only thing that can be heard in the room is the occasional blip of his monitors. He plays with her hand slightly while he recovers himself, running his fingers back and forth over it before coming to rest once more – this time with fingers laced. Part of Emma feels like she should protest or pull away, but after a moment she warms to it. “Go on,” she prods gently, surprised at how compelling his story has been thus far. When he turns his head to smile at her, she returns it.

“It took every trick in my arsenal to escape them. I managed to flee with Grace, the hat, and nothing else. I left behind all the riches and fame I had spent years accruing. All I cared about was keeping my daughter safe.”

“If the hat was so dangerous, though,” Emma asks, cutting in, “then why did you take it with you?”

Jefferson sighs. “I wish I hadn’t at times. But it was the only bargaining chip I really had. No one else could use it. Even if it was recovered by someone else, they’d come for me eventually. At least if I had it in my possession I could use it in my favor.” He gives her a strange look, then. “I’m impressed that you caught that detail, Emma. And here I thought you didn’t believe.”

“I don’t!” Emma is quick to reply stubbornly. “I’m just a good listener when a good story is being told, that’s all.”

Her protests only make his smile broaden, but he doesn’t press. “I managed to secure a little hovel in the woods to raise Grace in. I didn’t have any practical skills, so finding work to put food on the table was difficult at times. But, for the most part, we were happy. At least I hope she was….” He is overtaken by a coughing spell and Emma feels a horrible pang in her heart when she hears how terrible it sounds. Something of her concern must have shown on her face, because he waves his free hand at her with a dismissive air. “Don’t look like that, princess, it doesn’t suit you.”

_‘Princess’ he says_ , Emma thinks to herself.  _Well,_ enigma _I name him_.

“Her first word was ‘more,’” he continues, brushing past the moment. “Even before ‘Papa.’ She would point at things and say  _more_ , even if it didn’t really apply. She used it for ‘want’ more than anything.” He chuckles under his breath. “She’d bring me a story book and say it. And no matter how hard I tried to get her to say ‘story,’ it was always  _more._ ”

Emma can’t help but smile, and somewhere deep inside her, she’s jealous that he has these kinds of memories. Ever since Henry wormed his way into her life, more and more she’s regretted being absent from  _his._  She wonders what his first words were. When he learned to walk. What foods he liked or didn’t like.

“She was fearless,” Jefferson says, breaking into Emma’s thoughts. “She loved to climb on everything. She was crawling on the bed, and falling off it, before she could walk. But no matter how many times she fell, no matter how many times she hit her head, and no matter how closely I watched her, she would always get back up again.” He draws his tongue over his lower lip, smiling fondly. “She always wanted to get in everything and explore, too. I can’t count the number of times I caught her trying to climb in the well. Let me tell you, you’ve never known heart failure until you catch your child by the ankle from falling in a well.”

They share a laugh together at that. Emma can’t even imagine that kind of terror. She wonders if she’ll ever experience it. Henry tends to be pretty reckless himself. She imagines its only a matter of time before he gets himself in serious trouble. The only variable is how much her fault it is, and how badly Regina would punish her for it. It occurs to her how much warmer she feels toward Jefferson already. A quick glance at the clock tells her its only been about an hour, and here she is laughing easily with him. Not to mention holding his hand as if it is the most natural thing in the world to do.

“Enjoying the story so far, Emma?” He asks, his eyes trained carefully on her. “Do you still want to leave?”

Emma rolls her eyes in response. She’s not about to tell him that its actually a relief to sit down and have a normal conversation like this. That it feels a little like therapy for her, to talk to someone who seems to know what she’s going through, being separated from Henry. Fortunately for her, a nurse comes in and breaks up the moment. The pair are quiet as she goes about her work, checking Jefferson’s vitals and the monitors. Finally, she asks if he is comfortable, and when he replies in the affirmative, the woman leaves them once more.

“She lost her first tooth in an apple,” Jefferson says, picking up the thread of his story and thankfully letting Emma off the hook of his question. “And she was so hungry she didn’t even notice until she had finished. She was so mad she had nothing to show the tooth fairy that she raged and stormed all day about it. She even demanded that I hold her up by her ankles and shake her until it fell out of her tummy.” He gives Emma’s hand a squeeze, though whether it was to get her attention or something unintentional, she doesn’t know. “I’ll have you know its a lot harder to calm a child down about losing a tooth when the tooth fairy is real. But I don’t suppose you’ll believe that.”

“Would you give it a rest, already,” Emma replies, resisting the urge to laugh. “I’m here, I’m listening aren’t I? You should just be grateful I haven’t left already.”

“Ah, but then I’d have to tell on you.” He reminds her with a twist of his mouth. It’s meant to be a smirk he looks too much like he’s in pain. Emma wonders if he is.

“You won’t tell,” she finds herself saying softly as that thought enters her mind.

Jefferson looks at her, still sort-of smiling, his gray-blue eyes hiding a wealth of deep, raw emotion within them. “It looks like you caught me,” he replies after a moment, deliberately using the same words he had last night. “Will you still stay?” He’s testing her.

It’s Emma’s turn to give his hand a squeeze, pressing her second one atop their joined fingers. She doesn’t have to speak to tell him that she’s waiting to hear more. The heavy feeling in the air lifts and she can feel him relax before continuing with his tale.

“When she was eight she came down with a fever that nearly took her from me. As you know, we were so very poor that getting a healer was nigh on impossible.” He takes a deep and shaky breath, as if the memory is still painful for him to recall. “By the time I was able to make enough deals and trades to get someone out to see her it was almost too late. I was told she would most likely be blind the rest of her life, if she managed to survive at all. I didn’t know what I was going to do. She was my whole life…. Living without her was unthinkable. I honestly don’t know how I’ve made it this long.” He clears his throat, clearly emotional. “But she pulled through that first night, and then the next. After three days her sight came back. In a week she was able to walk around the house with help. And she got through it. She’s so strong and so willful. Looking back, I’d be shocked if a silly little fever is what takes her down.”

“Strong and willful, huh?” Emma repeats back at him with a sly smile. “I can’t imagine where she gets that from.” To her surprise, she actually draws a laugh from him. It warms her to him just a little bit more.

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, “though it sounds like less of a compliment when applied to me. I’m onto you, Emma.”

Emma only grins and shrugs at him innocently.

“And that brings us to how I came to be trapped in Wonderland.” He gives her a sidelong glance. “I don’t suppose you’ve read that story in your boy’s book, have you? As much as I’d love to try and fight through all your scoffing to tell it to you, we don’t have much time left together.”

For a moment, Emma is confused, but he nods at the clock on the wall and she discovers that it is already nearing seven. They have roughly twenty more minutes before visiting hours end. “I read it this morning,” she admits. “Interesting take on the classic. I’ve never heard it before.”

“Nor will you find someone else who has, but I don’t have just stories to share,” Jefferson says, his tone of voice changing slightly, taking on a more hurried pace. “I have something physical too, something real that you can see and touch that proves she’s my daughter.” He stops to cough again, a particularly nasty spell this time that has him clutching his chest.

Emma’s whole body tenses while she waits for him to overcome it. “Should I call a nurse?” She asks tentatively when he’s finally able to breathe, but he shakes his head fervently.

“There’s nothing they can do for me, anyway,” he replies, brushing aside her concern once more with a wave of his free hand. He takes a moment to breathe deeply, and when he’s ready he goes on. “When Grace’s hair got long enough to start trimming, I saved a lock of her hair. I didn’t have any fancy ribbon to tie it with, so I wrapped it in the middle with some fishing twine. I carried it with me always, even when I went to Wonderland. And because I had it on my person when we were brought here to Storybrooke, I still have it. It’s at home, locked away in a jewelry box in the closet of the room I’ve been saving for her. Just one little hair separates me and my daughter. That’s it. One paternity test and I could take her back.”

“Then why don’t you?” Emma asks frowning. “If she’s really your daughter, if you really think you could give her the better home, then why don’t you fight for her?” Its a mimicry of the conversation they had back in his hat room the night previous. She knows he’s about to deny her.

“I could do that,” he says, his voice no less emotional than it was they first discussed the topic, “but she doesn’t remember me like I do her. I’d be taking her away from the only life she knows, the  _parents_  —” its hard to miss the almost hateful way he uses the word, “she’s been told she loves. I’d take her away from her happiness just to fulfill my own. How could I do that? How could I be that selfish? And even if she did remember….” His voice breaks. “What if she doesn’t want me anymore? What if she prefers what she’s been given?”

_He’s afraid,_  Emma realizes,  _that after all this time he hasn’t done enough for her. That she won’t realize just how much he has fought for her, how much he loves her._

“The reason I’m telling you all this, Emma,” he continues on, and its obvious that he is making an effort to sound firm, though the length of the conversation and his gradually weakening condition makes it difficult, “is because if you ask those… usurpers that call themselves her parents  _anything_  about her childhood, they won’t be able to answer. They don’t know what her first words were, or when she took her first steps, or why they named her ‘Paige.’” He gives her an imploring look, as if begging her to believe him. “What kind of parent forgets those things? They have no photos of her growing up, no keepsakes from her younger years. I have given you every powerful memory I possess of her, told you every secret I hold.  _She is my daughter, Emma._ You have to believe me.”

Emma realizes just how tightly he’s squeezing her hands, just how fearful and desperate his expression is. She doesn’t know why its so important to him, but he’s clinging to this task, this goal of getting her to believe like it’s his last lifeline. “I believe you, Jefferson,” she replies, giving in to his insanity in an attempt to calm him. “But… why does it matter? You said that you don’t want to try and get custody of her, you don’t even want her to know about you. Why does it matter if I believe or not?”

Jefferson slumps back against his pillows, eased by her reassurances. “Selfishness, mostly,” he admits. “I don’t want you thinking I was just some mad man who spent his time stalking little girls and pretty sheriffs.” He gives her a significant look and she smiles in spite of herself. “But also because I was hoping that you could look after her for me. I mean, if you ever find yourself with the time and inclination to. If you ever bump into her… just make sure she’s safe and happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her. Even if I’m not the one who gets to be her father.”

A knock on the door cuts into the conversation that is making Emma struggle to hold back tears. She wouldn’t have guessed that when she drove to the hospital earlier that afternoon that her attitude toward the man who not 24 hours ago had kidnapped her and her roommate would have changed so drastically. “Visiting hours are over,” says the nurse who knocked. “Time to go sheriff.”

Emma pushes herself to her feet, realizing that she is still holding Jefferson’s hand. She releases it and sets it next to him on the bed before running her now free hand through his hair tenderly. She leans over him and kisses his pale forehead. “I promise,” she whispers. She shares with him a private smile, one that he returns weakly, and she feels it is enough. She straightens and walks to the door, where she stops to tell him, “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you, okay?”

The sad, resigned way Jefferson is smiling at her should be a warning sign, but Emma fights tooth and nail to ignore it. “Okay, princess,” he replies quietly. “Goodnight.”

They are the last words she hears him say.

* * *

 

The next morning Emma receives a phone call from Dr. Whale, informing her that Jefferson passed away during the night. She doesn’t hear much after that; she knows he’s saying something about blood clots and lungs, but what’s the difference, really? He knew he wasn’t long for the world, he had  _told her_  as much. How could she have brushed it aside so easily? Why didn’t she insist on staying with him? The moment she hangs up the phone, she bolts for the bathroom. It takes a lot to get the rock-solid sheriff to vomit. This is more than enough.

Officially, he died of complications from injuries he sustained in his suicide attempt. He leaves behind no one at all. A dusty old will is found in his home, but it’s made out to someone named Grace (no last name included) and since no one knows who that is or who it  _might_  be, all his possessions are turned over to the city. There is to be an auction within the week. Interested parties are free to come look at the house. Its a great bargain, since the last occupant killed himself and all.

All this Emma endures with a stone heart and straight face. She’s not even supposed to know him at all. She’s not supposed to feel like part of her died with him. She was just the woman who found him after he tried to kill himself. The person who graciously took time out of her day to listen to a dying man’s final words. She’s disturbed that no one really cares what she was doing near his home that day, or why he called her to his bedside. They really are that disinterested in the man named Jefferson Powers.

She attends his funeral alone, and is one of only a small handful who are there. It seems that he wasn’t very well known in Storybrooke, and those who did make his acquaintance weren’t great fans. Bastards. They have no idea what he suffered, do they? Of all the guests (all ten or fifteen of them), only two are noteworthy. The first is Regina. Emma is actually quite stunned to see the mayor there, but then, maybe she feels its her civic duty to attend. The woman maintains a straight face, speaks to no one (not even Emma), and leaves as soon as she is able.

The second tugs hard on the heartstrings Emma once thought were made of piano wire. It’s little Paige ( _Grace_ ). She’s alone, and it looks like she simply slipped into the church on a whim. But she cries during the ceremony, and finds herself standing at Jefferson’s headstone alone afterward, staring at it with a mixed expression of mourning and confusion. It is there that Emma approaches cautiously.

“Hi,” the sheriff says softly, coming up beside the little girl. “What’s your name?”

“Paige,” comes the equally quiet reply, but the girl says nothing else. Her eyes are fixated on the headstone, and for the first time Emma reads the epitaph.  _Amazing Grace; how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me._

“Did you know Mr. Powers?” Emma asks, hastily wiping away the few tears that welled up in her eyes.  _Not here, not now._

Paige shakes her head and Emma sees that she, too, is crying. “I’m just sad,” she replies after a moment, not bothering to hide her grief like the sheriff feels she must. “No one should be alone like he was.” She gives a great sniff, and looks up at Emma, her little nose red from weeping. “Was he nice?”

Emma feels her lip quiver and her eyes are burning again. She nods. “Yes,” she says, her voice breaking. “You would have liked him.”  _You would have loved him._


End file.
